


The Kuryakin Facsimile

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's lab partner, Nora, goes to a fancy dress party in a unique costume.  No wonder Napoleon's confused!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kuryakin Facsimile

**Author's Note:**

> The basis for this story came from my fellow writer, Raisa, who challenged me to write it. Raisa’s alternate, and very different, take on her idea can be found in her zine, An UNCLE For All Seasons And One For All Time

Illya Kuryakin was enjoying one of those rare, peaceful lulls in the eternal battle against world-wide crime and corruption. Some agents would take advantage of this quiet by catching up on their backlog of paperwork, some by honing their marksmanship on the gun range and yet others by simply taking time off to relax.

Illya, however, was content to secrete himself in the lab while the rest of the organization overhead went about its daily business. Lab work was as relaxing to him as an evening by the fire with a good book. It was quiet, peaceful, a dark refuge where few but the most desperate ventured. For the majority of U.N.C.L.E.’s employees, the chemical smells were off putting at best, but the biggest deterrent was the workers themselves. Most viewed Section Eight’s scientists as oddities, a peculiar breed of creature who spoke an altogether different language, burrowing and skulking in the bowels of the building.

Illya Kuryakin had a propensity for the subject of science. He wasn’t just good at it: he wasn’t just interested. He was a natural, taking pride in solving whatever challenging problem he was presented with or creating something that would aid U.N.C.L.E. in its eternal struggle against the enemy.

It was as satisfying to him as sex was for Napoleon – without the accompanying problems. Science didn’t require sweet-talking, science didn’t expect a phone call the next day, science didn’t ask you home one evening to meet your family. It was uncomplicated, delightfully unpredictable and a constant source of stimulation for his intellect. Exercise for the brain, Illya’s old science tutor had called it.

When Illya was in the lab and concentrating on some experiment or other, the outside world was blocked out – which was why he failed to hear his lab assistant, Nora Bodd, come into the room.

Nora only worked in the afternoons.   Until recently, she’d taken care of her sick mother and couldn’t find the time for full employment. Since her mother’s death a couple of months ago, she’d hoped to change that.

Nora was slight and mousy, in her late twenties, with large glasses that made her eyes look owlish, while her light brown, unstylish hair was tied back off her face in a severe ponytail. Nora had few friends. She found most people intellectually inferior and most men barely cast a glance her way. As a child, her mom had always told people that her daughter was ‘no oil painting,’ and Nora just somehow seemed to grow naturally into that description. As she grew up, she found solace in her books, and an interest in the sciences that would lead her into an occupation that she found intellectually satisfying. She liked her work; she liked U.N.C.L.E. But even here, even though most folk were polite to her, nobody asked her for a date or invited her to lunch.

Except Illya. She really liked Illya. He was the closest thing to a friend that she had. Her colleague was clever, funny, and with a gentle nature. Too bad he never seemed to see the woman behind the white coat with its blossom-like chemical stains on the lapels.   She smiled at the sight of her superior, oblivious to her presence as usual, bent over a microscope as he peered at a specimen on the slide.

Illya flinched when a small, brown paper sack was rattled by his ear, shaken gently by a tiny hand. He looked up at Nora and smiled as he took the offered item. “What’s this?” Illya asked, teasing open the scrunched up neck of the paper bag.

“Cookies. I baked them myself.”

Nora was always bringing him treats. She said she thought he was too thin but Illya suspected it was more to do with an instinct to coddle. She’d been more solicitous since her mother’s death, needing to be needed.

Illya poked his nose into the bag and took a sniff. The cookies were fresh, the delicious sweet aroma stimulating his saliva glands into action. He took one out and bit into it. “Mmm. Thank you,” he said around the mouthful. He gulped it down. “They’re delicious.”

Nora blushed. “Well, I have nothing else to do in the evenings. Besides, I like to cook. It’s a pleasure to bake for someone who appreciates it.”

“And I do, very much. Thank you,” he said, popping another of the tasty delights into his mouth.

“You shouldn’t eat so many before lunch. You’ll ruin your appetite,” she chided.

Suddenly, the voice of section two’s Chief Enforcement agent, Napoleon Solo, came from the open doorway. “I’ve yet to see anything that could ruin Illya Kuryakin’s appetite. Are you ready, partner? The aforementioned lunch awaits,” he said, waving a finger towards the door.

Illya glanced at his watch. “Sorry. I didn’t realise what time it was. I’ll just wash up.”

Napoleon hitched his hip onto a stool while he waited for his partner to go through his ablutions.

Nora took a step towards Napoleon but kept some distance between them, as if she were afraid to intrude on his space. She held the paper bag up towards him. “Would… would you like a cookie, Napoleon? I baked them myself.”

Napoleon smiled politely her. “Ah, no thank you, Nora. I don’t want to ruin my appetite, either.”

Nora backed away blushing furiously at her faux pas. “Of course, how silly of me.” She rubbed a hand anxiously up her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Save them for Illya. He appreciates a little home cooking.” Napoleon glanced over at his friend, and leaned forward to whisper confidentially to Nora, “Besides, he needs feeding up.”

Nora smiled and stood quietly, nervous under the senior agent’s scrutiny. Napoleon, always attuned to a woman’s needs, tried to put her at ease. “So, Nora, are you going to the costume party this weekend?”

“Oh, yes,” she blurted out in excitement. Napoleon sat back as Nora stepped forward, becoming suddenly animated at the idea. “I already have my costume planned.”

“Oh? What are you going as?”

She laughed nervously, covering her mouth with her hand as she did. “I don’t want to say. I can guarantee one thing, though. It’ll be unique. Sort of,” she added mysteriously.

“I’m sure it will be,” he smiled.

There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, then Nora suddenly said, “Oh, are you going to the party?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She dragged a loose strand of hair back over one ear. “I don’t think, erm, Mr. Kuryakin is going.” She took a brave step nearer, saying quietly, “Maybe you could persuade him. He’ll listen to you. I don’t think he gets out enough,” she confided quietly.

Napoleon had to agree with her on that point. Illya didn’t like crowds and considered such occasions a frivolous waste of time. Napoleon often wondered what sort of upbringing his partner had to find puerility where others found pleasure.

Regardless of this obstacle, Napoleon considered it his duty to try and coax his friend into making an appearance, if only for a couple of hours.   “I’ll do my best to make sure he gets there. Even if I have to use sleep darts.”

Nora laughed a little too loud at Napoleon’s feeble joke and raised a hand to try to stifle her giggles.

Illya came back, sliding his jacket over his shoulders. “Are you ready?”

Napoleon slid off the stool. “Always, dear boy, always. I was just passing the time of day with your delightful assistant, here.” He winked at Nora as he passed her. “See you this weekend, Nora,” he promised as he followed Illya out of the door.

Out in the corridor, Illya glanced at him and shook his head. “You shouldn’t tease her like that. She’s very vulnerable.”

“Tease? Me? What did I do?”

“You know very well. ‘I’ll see you this weekend’,” Illya mimicked in a whiney voice. “She’s completely guileless, Napoleon. Don’t take advantage of her.”

Napoleon had the good grace to look contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Sometimes you just can’t switch it off. It’s a bad habit and very annoying,” Illya continued.

Illya was irritable for some reason. “I said I was sorry,” Napoleon repeated with a little impatience.

“She’s not one of those vacuous beauties you like to hang around with. Leave her alone.”

Napoleon gripped Illya’s sleeve and pulled him to a halt. “Hey, I said I was sorry. How many times do I have to say it?”

It was Illya’s turn to look remorseful. “I apologize.” Napoleon nodded his acceptance and carried on walking.

As both agents started to move again, Illya added, “It’s just that she’s led a sheltered life. She’s not used to overt sexual advances.”

“Was I making advances?”

“Napoleon, even the way you ask a woman if she’d like cream in her coffee is a sexual advance.”

Napoleon grinned. He was proud of his masculinity, his raw sex appeal. It attracted the women and intimidated the men. Except Illya, of course. He was one of the few immune to Napoleon’s charms.

“Speaking of the party this weekend…” Napoleon started.

“Which we weren’t,” Illya pointed out.

“Yes, well, since the subject has been brought up, Nora’s right. You should come, tovarishch. Give those social graces of yours an airing.”

“A costume party? And what would I go as? A court jester, perhaps?   Wearing a hat with bells and a carrying a pig’s bladder on a stick?”

“Pig’s bladder? Oh, no, it should be something in keeping with your personality. Let’s see….” Napoleon tweaked his lips as he considered the possibilities. He snapped his fingers. “Got it! The Mad Monk, Rasputin.”

Illya shook his head. “The only thing Rasputin and I have in common is geographical. Besides, he had a big, bushy beard.”

“But he was a big hit with the ladies. Hm. Maybe I’ll go as Rasputin.”

Illya smiled indulgently. “Be my guest.”

 

The party was in full swing by the time Napoleon arrived. He still wasn’t sure whether or not Illya would make an appearance, since he’d given Napoleon no real promise.

Napoleon looked down at the uniform he wore. What else could he have dressed as, except Napoleon Bonaparte? At least he looked dashing in uniform.

“Hi, Napoleon,” sighed Veronica, one of Napoleon’s brief dalliances, she sidled up to him in her skimpy nurses outfit, a thermometer clutched in her hand. “Take your temperature?” she offered.

“Ah, probably not a good time,” he replied, looked pointedly at her cleavage. “I’m feeling a little warm and I’d hate to pop that thing.”

Veronica slid closer. “You can pop my thing anytime, lover,” she purred. She leaned close to kiss his lips but her friend tugged at her arm, drawing her away. “See you later,” Veronica called over her shoulder.

Napoleon waggled his fingers at her disappearing rear and turned to scan the other bodies.

An hour passed and Napoleon had just begun to feel more than a little disgruntled at his partner’s apparent failure to make an appearance, when he spotted the distinctive mop of blond hair shining like a beacon in a corner of the room. He squeezed through the gathering, offering apologies to those in his way while trying to avoid revellers who tried to distract him.

When he reached his partner, Illya had his back to him. He tapped a black-clad shoulder and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be in costume?”

The figure turned and Napoleon almost dropped his glass of bourbon in shock.

Not Illya but someone else. And not just someone else but someone female, wearing the same clothes Illya wore, wearing her hair in the same style and color as Illya. She was an imposter, a cross-gendered version of his friend. Napoleon was too disturbed by the likeness to speak.

“Napoleon? It’s me, Nora. Do you like it?” she said, spreading her arms open to display her costume to the full.

Napoleon found his voice. “Nora?” Quiet, mousy Nora? Nora, of the over-sized glasses and shapeless brown hair? “Nora?” he said, repeating himself as words failed to come to him.

“Yes, it’s me,” she laughed. “What do you think?”

Napoleon looked her over more carefully. Nora had taken great care with her wardrobe, choosing exactly the same style of black turtleneck sweater that had become Illya’s trademark, teaming it with a dark charcoal suit that was authentically Illya. Napoleon fingered the material. “It’s certainly…. original. Where did you get the suit?”

“Mr. Del Floria.” Nora blushed furiously. “Actually, it’s one of Illya’s. I picked it up for him after it was dry-cleaned. I figured, wearing it for one night wouldn’t do it any harm.”

Napoleon couldn’t help but smile at her. “What happened to the glasses?”

“Oh, contacts.” She ran her hand through the cropped haircut. “What do you think of the hair?”

Napoleon caught a few strands between his fingers. It was soft, silky, just as he imagined Illya’s would be. But it wasn’t quite right. He finger-combed it to one side and pushed it back till it was in the right place. That’s better. “There. Even Mr. Waverly won’t be able to tell you apart.”

Nora seemed to be perpetually blushing. She looked down at her plain, lace-up shoes and then looked shyly up at Napoleon. “It took me a while to find the right color. I saved some strands from his comb, so I could get the correct shade.”

“Illya has a comb?” he asked, feigning shock. Napoleon couldn’t resist fingering the fine strands of hair again.   Just like Illya’s…well, almost… “Well, I think Illya will be flattered – if he ever gets here. It’s the most inventive costume I’ve seen tonight.”

Before Nora could reply, Veronica had joined the couple and slipped her arm around Napoleon’s waist, making a claim. “Well, I think it’s sick, impersonating a man.” She jabbed a finger in Nora’s direction. “You’ve been spending too long in that basement, dearie, inhaling all those chemical fumes.”

Nora looked crestfallen. “Excuse me, Napoleon,” she said to the agent before walking away. Napoleon pulled Veronica’s arm from his waist and held her at arm’s length. “Was that really necessary?”

Veronica sneered. “Well, look at her. She’s dressed like your partner, for Christ’s sake. How weird is that? Doesn’t that disturb you? It should.”

It did, in a way, but Napoleon couldn’t say why. “She’s just trying to have a little fun, like the rest of us.”

Veronica tried to move closer, pressing her breasts against his arm. Napoleon pulled away from the alcohol fumes as she opened her mouth. “We can still have fun,” she said.

“I think you should find yourself another playmate.” Napoleon eased her gently away and turned his back to her.

Veronica, who’d already drunk more than she was capable of holding, was angry at being rebuffed by the man most likely to put out. “You know what they call her upstairs? Odd Bodd!” she yelled at his back. Veronica huffed. “Nutty Nora,” she mumbled to herself, as she tried to hold back the tears of anger. It wouldn’t do to have her mascara run: it had taken her two hours to get ready.

She took a deep slug from her glass and tottered off to find another companion.

 

As the night wore on, Napoleon grew tired of the beauties that slinked around the room. Most he knew by sight, some he knew by reputation. Regardless, each new companion had begun to look very much like the last, an endless conveyer belt of pretty women, vying to be his paramour for the night. It had become a bore.

Why wasn’t Illya here? He needed stimulating conversation, someone he could verbally joust with, someone to keep the brain-cells galvanized. He needed company that was challenging, a companion who could keep his interest for more than twenty minutes at a time.

But Illya wasn’t here, not yet.  

However, Napoleon thought, his proxy was.

He searched about, scanning the sea of heads for the now-blond Nora, and found the golden head of hair on the other side of the room, her dark-attired form standing alone at the bar. He pushed his way through the throng, went up behind her and nosed her delicate ear. “Mm, you smell good,” he said in his most seductive purr.

The figure spun so quickly, Napoleon was almost knocked backwards in surprise. The second shock hit him like a bucket of ice water full in the face.

Not Nora, not Illya’s impersonator, but the man himself. This was starting to get confusing.

Napoleon was stunned into silence for the moment it took Illya to lower his fists from his defensive stance. “Illya! I’m sorry, I thought you were….” He shook his head when Illya’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “Never mind.” Napoleon smiled his most charming. “I’m just glad you came.” He squeezed Illya’s arm and felt his partner relax, though Napoleon himself still felt a little shaken by his mistake. He tried to attract the bartender. “Your usual?” he asked Illya.

“Erm, no. I can’t stay.” It was Illya’s turn to shrink under Napoleon’s glare.

Napoleon managed a long sigh that emptied his lungs entirely of air. “I knew it! Kuryakin, you’re the most infuriating, frustrating, elusive little….”

“Before you flatter me further, just let me say that Mr. Waverly has requested the results of those tests I’ve been running as soon as possible. And when Mr. Waverly says ‘jump,’ I ask ‘how high?’ I just called by to let you know I won’t be coming to the party.” He glanced about. “Well, staying, anyway.”

Napoleon looked appeased. “Well, I suppose an agent’s gotta do what an agent’s gotta do….”

“Exactly, and especially when Mr. Waverly orders you to do it.” Illya ogled the pretty brunette who had walked over and draped a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “And now you must do what you must do.” Illya regarded the merriment surrounding them. “It’s a tough life, Napoleon but someone has to do it. Have a nice night.”

Illya turned away, quickly disappearing into the crowd before Napoleon could say anymore. Napoleon watched him go, feeling bereft and for the moment, completely oblivious to the pretty young lady, who had now latched onto his arm.

“Hey! Napoleon,” Veronica said, drawing his attention back to her. She was persistent and obviously very thick skinned. Or maybe just too dumb to take a hint.  

She tapped her thermometer on his nose. “I’m looking for someone to play doctors and nurses with.”

Napoleon slipped out of her grasp. “Ahm, and I think I see someone in need of your special talents right over there,” he said, pointing to a heavily bandaged Egyptian mummy doing the Twist on the dance floor. Veronica turned, following his direction and Napoleon quickly slipped away.

 

This time Nora found Napoleon. He was politely trying to extricate himself from Mandy --   resplendent in trench-coat and dark glasses in her guise as a spy -- when he felt someone tap his arm.

“Nora,” he said happily.

“Hi, again. Has Illya turned up yet?” Nora asked.

“Briefly. He had to leave. Work,” Napoleon explained simply.

“Oh.” She looked down, disappointed. “I wanted him to see my costume.”

“Well, he just has to look in a mirror. Speaking of that costume of yours,” Napoleon said, tugging at her blond locks, “it almost got me a broken nose.”

She looked perplexed. “Huh?”

“Never mind. Let’s sit down,” Napoleon suggested as the revellers began to jostle for space. “There’s a place over there.”

Napoleon was pleasantly surprised to find how easy Nora was to talk to until he realized just how much Nora had taken on some of Illya’s traits and mannerisms. Napoleon was unsure whether this was the result of working with the Russian or whether she’d absorbed them as part of her costume. She’d certainly gone to some lengths to copy his partner’s appearance and Napoleon put this down to the same requisite need for perfection that Illya had when it came to his disguises. The scientific mind wasn’t happy with halfway solutions, only with flawless results. It was a trait that served his partner well in the field.

Whatever the reason, it was almost like talking to a female version of his partner. She was quite articulate, once she got over her nervousness, and surprisingly opinionated, which Napoleon found to be a refreshing change from the females he usually dated.   _Are we dating?_ his inner voice asked. He was certainly enjoying her company and politely turned away the advances of other females who sought to coax him away from this male impersonator.

Napoleon stayed with Nora until the party came to a close and the remaining guests were politely but firmly asked to vacate the premises.

He drove her home; she asked him in for coffee. And the inevitable happened.

Coffee had been drunk by the fireside, the atmosphere romantic and warm. When the coffee was finished, kisses were tentatively exchanged, becoming more ardent as Napoleon’s hands began to take a tour of her body.

First stop was her hair. It held a strange fascination for him. He stroked his hand through the locks and let it slip between his fingers, taking pleasure from the silky texture. It was astonishing. It was almost, but not quite, the same color as Illya’s, for Napoleon knew every shade and hue of his partner’s hair and while this was a good facsimile, it would be impossible to reproduce accurately. This is how he imagined it would feel, though, soft and fine, sleek and silken. He nosed through it, losing himself in the sensation, while his hands busied themselves elsewhere.

At some point, caressing turned to foreplay and they both ended up on the rug in front of the fire, naked, sweating and aroused to the point of no return. Despite her timid appearance, Nora was obviously not a novice when it came to sex. Or had her alternate-persona given her courage? Either way, Napoleon didn’t care at this stage of the game. Besides, she obviously wanted this as much as he did.

He went through the usual preliminaries; kiss, compliment, stroke and reassure. His modus operandi varied little when it came to women. He knew what they wanted, even if they didn’t. It was a tried and tested technique, honed to perfection over the years.

It had also become a matter of pride for Napoleon, being the gentleman that he was, that his sex partner should climax, too, and his favored method of achieving this was by oral stimulation. He made his way down Nora’s body and sucked the tiny bud of flesh into his mouth.

A woman’s clitoris was an amazing organ, a vestigial penis, of sorts. It swelled with arousal, like a man’s cock. Illya’s cock…. His would react this way too, Napoleon thought, stimulated into fullness by the warmth of his mouth, the flick of his tongue. He imagined he could taste Illya as Nora’s juices awakened his taste buds.

He wasn’t sure why the thought of fellating his partner aroused him so much -- Napoleon had only willingly sucked cock twice in his life and neither time had been a particularly pleasant experience. This was a relatively new fantasy, one that had gradually wheedled its way into his psyche over the last few months. He’d been partnered with Kuryakin for more than a year now and in all that time, Illya had never shown interest in sex at all.

So why did the idea of performing such an act on his sombre friend appeal so much? Because he wanted to melt that ice-encrusted heart? Hear Illya beg for release? No, Napoleon simply wanted to please him – and himself in the process, of course. Napoleon had always been attracted to beauty and besides his obvious good looks, Illya had the added attraction of being easy to get on with. They gelled, talked the same silent language, thought the same thoughts. They had the perfect relationship. Almost.

Napoleon’s wandering attention was drawn back to his current sexual partner, as her fingers grabbed tightly at his hair, while she shuddered and groaned to a climax. Napoleon waited the storm out and once Nora’s hands relaxed, he leaned up and kissed her on the belly.

“Turn over for me, sweetheart,” he instructed gently, using his hands to guide her up on to her hands and knees.

Doggy style. An unattractive appellation for an act of love. Sex came in all varieties and positions and this was one of his favorites. The angle would make it easier for penetration for the relatively inexperienced Nora and allow Napoleon to indulge in a little fantasy of his own.

It was easy to imagine this was his partner: the blond hair, the slender body, the pale skin. Would Illya bend over for him like this, presenting himself for Napoleon’s pleasure? Napoleon couldn’t help but imagine he would. He could allow himself this small fantasy, couldn’t he? Where was the harm?

As she obediently stayed on all fours, his hands caressed her buttocks, stroked along her back, tracing the ridge of backbone with his fingers. On Illya, just to the left of the spine, there would be a scar here, half way down, a reminder of a close shave he’d had with a bullet early in their partnership. Napoleon kissed the spot tenderly. And over here, he thought, skimming over the right shoulder blade, would be another scar, long and pink and only recently acquired. He kissed that imaginary mark, too. Illya’s body had plenty of blemishes of this kind – Napoleon had a mental map of them all in his head. Napoleon knew each and every one of them: he’d been around when Illya had received most of his wounds and was usually the one to administer first aid.

He stroked this pale, pristine back one more time before guiding his cock into the snug warmth of Nora’s vagina, sliding home slowly, appreciating the groan of satisfaction she gave when he’d fully sheathed himself inside her.

Tight. Just like Illya would be. Would Illya moan in the same way as Napoleon entered him? Would he give himself over, submit to this ultimate act?  

The thought made him harder, and Napoleon had to force himself to go slowly as he leaned forward and gently rocked in and out, kissing along the pale back, one hand wrapped around the slim waist, the other carding through the silky hair. Oh, god, Illya… he would feel like this, warm and welcoming, accepting his hard cock with a groan of pleasure each time it thrust into him. Illya, Illya….

The eroticism of the fantasy flared his passion to dizzying heights and soon he was on the verge of coming. “Oh, yes…” he moaned as he felt the tell-tale signs of impending climax. “Yes… yes…” he breathed, lost in his imagination, “Illya… ”

It had barely been a whisper, the gentlest of zephyrs passing between his lips, but it reached the keen hearing of the one he was with and his fantasy bubble exploded as Nora frantically pulled out of his grasp and scrabbled away, putting distance between them.

He looked at her, perplexed, and was shocked by the disgust in her face. She held a hand over her mouth as though to hold back nausea and her eyes stared at him as though he were a total stranger defiling her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, completely unaware of his impropriety.

Her hand left her mouth to pull a cushion from the chair. She cuddled it in front of her, using it like a shield. “While you…made love to me… you… you called his name,” she whimpered. “Illya. You c-called his name.”

Napoleon’s erection took a rapid nosedive south. Illya’s name? Had he? He’d been thinking it, but had he said it out loud? _Oh, my God…_

He scrabbled towards her, intending to comfort but she backed away until the sofa stopped her progress. He kept his distance, realizing contact was the last thing she wanted from him. “Nora, I’m sorry, it’s not what it seems,” he said, though he sounded pathetic to his own ears. “I don’t know what I was thinking….”

“You… you thought… I was him. Oh, you… bastard. I thought… you wanted… me,” she sobbed, in between hitching breaths.

“Nora, please….”

“Get out!” she screamed, throwing the cushion in his direction. “Get out!”  

He caught the cushion easily and rose, dropping it back on the sofa as he passed.

She was right: it was time for him to leave. There were no excuses.

Napoleon gathered up his clothes, dressed and left.

 

Napoleon peered through the glass window set into the door of the labs. There was no sign of life, no presence of any kind. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. Illya wasn’t here yet and if Napoleon had to guess, Nora probably wouldn’t be, either. He turned to leave and almost bumped into his partner as he did.

“Looking for me?” Illya asked, pushing past Napoleon to get into the lab. Napoleon followed him inside the room and stood to one side as Illya pulled open a drawer and removed a sheaf of papers.

“Why else would I bother to come down into the basement?”

“Good point. Well, make it quick because I have to get these results to Mr Waverly for his one o’clock meeting.”

Napoleon huffed out an impatient breath. Now he was here, where to start? At the beginning, of course.

“I went to the staff party last night.”

“And you came down here to tell me all about it?”

Napoleon flinched. “Sort of. Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you….”

Illya was distracted, checking through the papers in his hand, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. “Oh? How did the party go?” Illya asked. Everything seemed to be in order with his notes. He shuffled them together in a neat pile.

Napoleon shrugged. “It would have gone better if you’d been there,” he replied honestly. If Illya _had_ been there, none of this would have happened. If Illya _had_ been there, he wouldn’t have transferred his fixation onto the woman who masqueraded as his partner. If Illya had been there…

No, Napoleon thought, none of this was Illya’s fault. He couldn’t share the blame for this. This mess was the sole creation of Napoleon Solo.

“I’m sorry but I told you I was busy,” Illya murmured, still distracted by his task. “It took me till one o’clock this morning to get this finished and it still needs typing up.” Illya had gathered his papers and stood with them dangling from one hand. “Did you see Nora at the dance?”

Did Illya have to ask that question? The reminder of last night’s farce was enough to make him queasy.

“I know she was looking forward to it,” Illya added. “I never got to see her costume. She wanted to keep it a secret. Who did she go as?”

Napoleon winced -- more salt in a raw wound. “Actually, Nora’s the reason I’m here. I wanted to talk to you about her….”

Napoleon’s impending confession was interrupted by the lab door banging open as the blonde-haired Nora swept into the room like a thunderstorm.

Stunned by her change of appearance, Illya didn’t notice the fury that oozed from every pore on her body. “What have you done to your hair?” he asked her.

Napoleon was glad when her enraged stare left his face to glance at his partner. “I went to the fancy dress party this weekend. I went as you!”

“Me?” Illya said, bewildered. “But why?”

Nora’s rage turned back to Napoleon. “Because I thought I would be different. I thought I would attract attention.” She answered Illya but kept her hard gaze on Napoleon’s face.

Oh, yes, she’d certainly caught Napoleon’s attention all right. “Nora…” Napoleon began quietly, trying to diffuse the situation. But Nora had obviously had the night to work herself into a thunderous temper. Still keeping her eyes on Napoleon, she continued to talk to Illya. “And I did it because you’re someone I respect, Illya, someone I thought I could trust.”

“Could trust…?” Belatedly, Illya finally realized that there was some friction between his two colleagues. “What’s going on? What happened?” He stepped towards his partner. “Napoleon, what did you do?” Illya asked heatedly.

“Illya, it was a misunderstanding,” he said, trying to plead innocent in a case he knew he was guilty of. “A mistake.”

“A mistake?” Nora repeated quietly, as if she’d somehow misheard. “A mistake?” she repeated louder. “How DARE you!” Nora howled. She pulled back her arm and slapped Napoleon hard across the face with all her might. The sound cracked in the silent room, amplifying her pain. She turned briefly to her stunned colleague, tears falling down her face as she said to Illya, “I’m handing in my notice.”

Then she turned and left.

Napoleon was rubbing at his stinging cheek, staring at the swinging door, when Illya’s angry face appeared before him. Illya said nothing, for which Napoleon was both grateful and apprehensive, but his silence was accusatory. A silent Kuryakin was almost as bad on the nerves as one in full verbal flow.

Illya turned away without saying anything and followed Nora through the door.

 

Napoleon poured himself another martini while his free hand popped an olive into his mouth. “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we shall die,” he muttered to himself. Well, he was doing the eating and drinking but the merry part was eluding him somehow. And when Illya had found out about his liaison with Nora – which he most certainly had, by now – then there was a good chance that his life expectancy would soon be cut short, tomorrow or pretty soon thereafter.

Napoleon wasn’t totally surprised when someone knocked at his door; he knew Illya would turn up sooner or later. Napoleon opened the door to his grave looking partner.

“Illya,” he said, trying to act surprised. He waved an arm in the direction of the living room. “Why don’t you….” Napoleon stepped aside as his partner barged past. “…. come in,” he finished to himself.

Napoleon locked the door and prepared himself for the onslaught to come. Illya was pacing the room, arms at his side, fingers and thumbs rubbing together in a way that told Napoleon he was greatly agitated. “I’ve been to see Nora.”

Napoleon nodded. “I thought you might.” He hung his head, partly out of shame. He’d spent so much time feeling sorry for himself, he’d forgotten there was another party hurting in this mess. “How is she?”

“Fine, no thanks to you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. Things that night were…” he shook his head, unable to articulate. “Things were strange.”

Illya was still pacing and Napoleon could see the muscles under his shirt twitching with suppressed emotion. Illya kept his head down as he spoke. “She said you took her home after the party. She invited you in for coffee, then you had sex.” Illya suddenly stopped pacing and strode across the room to face Napoleon. Napoleon could see a storm brewing in the glittering eyes, the spasm of jaw muscles holding back the flow of abuse that threatened to burst from his mouth.

Trying to hold in his temper, Illya bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking up to regard his colleague. “She said you called my name while you were making love to her.”

Napoleon swallowed a lump in his throat and looked over the Russian’s shoulder – anything to take his gaze away from those accusatory eyes.

“Did you, Napoleon,” Illya repeated.

“Illya, I….” Napoleon couldn’t finish the sentence. He had no idea how to explain. He looked about, seeming to search the room for an answer that wasn’t there.

“She said you were thinking about me while you fucked her.”

Napoleon ground his teeth. Illya was being deliberately vulgar, trying to provoke a response.

“Well? Were you?” the Russian badgered.

Napoleon felt his face flush with shame.

Illya stepped closer, so close that Napoleon could feel the heat of his body. Any other time, Napoleon would have relished the near proximity of his partner.

“Were you, Napoleon?” Illya asked doggedly.

He looked up to meet Illya’s eyes. His partner’s expression betrayed nothing. Napoleon took a deep breath. What did it matter anyway? Illya already knew the answer and to deny it would make Nora look like a liar. “Yes,” he simply said in reply.

Illya’s whole being appeared to sag with relief as the tension left his body. “That’s all I wanted to know.” Illya leaned forward and caught Napoleon behind the neck, drawing his mouth down into a passionate kiss.

When Napoleon thought about it later, the events that followed went by at such a furious pace, frantic and wild, overwhelming in intensity, that there had been little time or inclination to do anything other cooperate. He hadn’t pulled away or recoiled from Illya’s oral onslaught, instead he willingly burned in the flames of passion, ignited by his partner’s desire. He was pushed backward until he felt a hard, unyielding wall supporting his back and a hard, unyielding body pressed against his front. Blissfully sandwiched between two immovable forces, he relaxed and let nature take its course, his focus on the body that held him in place and the moist cavity that engulfed his mouth.

Napoleon’s fantasy made flesh. Only, this didn’t quite match his fantasies, this flurry of lips and tongue and mobile fingers. Napoleon had always imagined Illya would be coy, submissive, tentative. Instead, experienced fingers stroked over his chest, moved across his erection, groped and pinched his ass… just how many hands did his partner have, anyway?

“Christ, Illya…” The sensory bombardment was overwhelming. His cock was painfully hard and trapped against his partner’s steely erection, separated only by thin layers of cloth. The friction was delicious but he was going to pop soon, if Illya wasn’t careful.

“Stop.” Don’t stop…This was going too fast. He was torn between wanting Illya to halt and wanting him to continue. “Please, slow down…” Napoleon managed to choke the words out with difficulty.

Obediently, Illya’s pace slackened. The blond pulled away to study his partner’s flushed face before leaning back for a slower, more leisurely kiss. Illya’s hands were gentler this time, taking care to stroke Napoleon’s cock as softly as he did when petting one of those flea-bitten cats he had a fondness for. The slower pace allowed Napoleon to breathe and regain some of his composure. But he should be doing something in return, shouldn’t he? He should reciprocate, in some way.

Napoleon’s limbs refused to move, reduced to passive, lifeless appendages as his body was manipulated by knowing hands. In fact, the only extremity that seemed active was his penis, currently under the process of being teased from its warm haven inside his pants.

Napoleon was putty in Illya’s hands – except for the part that counted the most. Napoleon clung to the wall and watched helpless as Illya crouched down and took his erection into his mouth. Napoleon banged his head against the wall as the vacuum of Illya’s mouth caused his body to spasm in pleasure. He looked down, forcing himself to watch as Illya’s cheeks hollowed with each sucking motion.

The sight was too much.   _Oh, sweet Lord_ … He was going to come and he couldn’t get his vocal chords to cooperate enough to warn his partner. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “Ohm’god….”

Before he could ejaculate, Illya pulled away and stood. Gentle but firm hands were guiding Napoleon away from him, turning Napoleon, pushing him forward so he had to catch himself on the back of his sofa, bent over from the waist.

His pants now around his ankles, Napoleon looked down at his thwarted erection, which seemed to look back up at him, and belatedly realized the position he had been placed in: bent over from the waist, ass sticking up invitingly in the air. He looked over his shoulder and could see Illya coating his own hard cock with something slick and shiny. Napoleon breathed the only words he seemed capable of. “Ohmygod….”

Barely an hour ago he’d imagined his partner storming in and taking revenge, not… taking him.   Napoleon’s gaze followed the trajectory of the shiny tube as Illya tossed it onto the sofa. He stared at the discarded tube of lubricant, confused by the conflicting emotions he felt. Illya was going to fuck him. _Fuck me_ … His body responded by increasing the blood supply to his already aching erection, while his mind panicked at the idea of where his partner’s cock was going to go.   He wondered if he should point out that he had never done this before.

Now would seem like a good time.

“Illya, I’ve never….” he said uncertainly, unwilling to spoil the mood.

“Shh,” his friend soothed, stroking a hand over Napoleon’s erection. “Don’t worry, Napoleon. Not this time….” Illya tapped the back of his thigh. “Open your legs a little,” he commanded. Napoleon obeyed, parting his legs while he wondered what Illya had in mind if he wasn’t considering penetration. He trembled when he felt the hard shaft slip between his thighs. “Now close them,” Illya said. Again, Napoleon followed Illya’s instruction, trapping the slick erection between his muscular thighs. Illya’s arm went around his waist, holding him in place, while his free hand slipped under his shirt, caressing Napoleon’s chest and pinching his nipples.

When Illya began to slide his slick cock in and out of the sandwich of flesh, Napoleon thought he would pass out from ecstasy. The tip of Illya’s hard cock pressed against his balls on the inward stroke and rubbed against his anus on the out, sending a shock of pleasure tingling through his entire body. Illya’s tight grip about his torso added to the eroticism of the moment. Napoleon had the sensation of being mastered, dominated, ravaged – and instead of feeling intimidated it, perversely, excited him. The loss of control was seductive, welcome, freeing him of any guilt, heightening his gratification.

Illya’s hand had made its way down Napoleon’s chest to gather up Napoleon’s cock, stroking it with the same leisurely rhythm as Illya’s thrusts. The double stimulation was overwhelming: Napoleon had almost forgotten to breathe. He dragged in a lungful of air as Illya’s manipulation of his cock became more erratic, matching the thrusts of his cock between Napoleon’s thighs as Illya neared completion. Illya came with a loud groan and the unexpected hot splatter of come between Napoleon’s legs acted as a catalyst for Napoleon’s own climax.

Illya carried on pumping Napoleon’s cock until Napoleon carefully pried his fingers away from his softening organ and they both slumped to the floor on their sides, still tied in the same position with Illya’s arm circling Napoleon’s waist.

The only sound in the apartment was the panting of two sexually satisfied males.

Eventually, Napoleon stirred. “That was…” Napoleon gasped, “an interesting technique.”

He felt his partner’s laugh breeze against his neck. “Well, I didn’t think you’d appreciate full intercourse, as this was our first time together.” He squeezed his partner close. “When I was in the KGB – and very young – I was sent to a pioneer’s camp for a while. Some of us would meet girls from the local farms and it was the safest way to have sex. We didn’t have the benefit of Vaseline, though. The girls would bring some butter from the farm. Not very romantic but practical. And the girls remained virgins. ”

Napoleon squeezed the arm around his waist. “I know this isn’t romantic to ask, but wasn’t it presumptuous to come here with lubricant in your pocket?”

He felt Illya’s head rub affectionately against his shoulder. “A good agent should always be prepared,” he replied, with a yawn. Illya was tired: it had been a long, busy weekend.

Napoleon’s breathing had almost returned to normal. He looked up and saw a white stain on the back of his sofa. He should clean that up before it dried. _In a minute_ , an inner voice argued. He was too comfy at the moment, even though he lay here on the carpet, pants twisted round his ankles and partner twisted round his waist. This felt wonderful and he didn’t want to break the mood.

Illya was quiet. Napoleon tried to look over his shoulder at him. “Hey, partner. You haven’t fallen asleep on me, have you?”

Illya stirred slightly and mumbled, “I hope not. I don’t want this to be a dream.”

“It’s a wet one, if it is,” Napoleon replied. And very sticky, he thought, glancing down at the pearly liquid covering his thighs. Illya’s sperm. It was a sexy sight but somewhat messy.

“Illya?” Napoleon said. “Do you think the next time we could do this in bed?”

Illya smiled. Napoleon was thinking in the future tense and it made him warm. “Next time?” Illya muttered. “If I live till then.”

“I’ve kept you alive so far, haven’t I?”

“Mmm,” Illya agreed languidly as his hand slid over Napoleon’s belly and played with the fur there.

Illya’s ejaculate was starting to dry on Napoleon’s skin. “C’mon, love. Let’s take a shower then go to bed.” He rolled to his knees and pulled his tired partner upright.

He suddenly remembered the reason why Illya had come over here in the first place. “By the way, how is Nora?”

Illya’s face gave away nothing. “She’ll be fine. I advised her to take the rest of the week off, give herself some time to think about it.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her we were lovers.”

“You did?” Napoleon asked in disbelief. He snickered. “I’ve always admired you for your foresight.”

Illya continued. “I told her that it was a natural mistake; because of her very convincing disguise, you simply forgot whom you were with.”

“And she bought that?” he asked, having trouble believing it himself, though it was only the truth.

“Why not? It’s been rumoured for a long time. Besides, I know Nora. She’s a romantic. She thinks it’s rather sweet.”

“Sweet.” Napoleon repeated the word as though it were foreign to his tongue. “Illya, I called out your name while I was making love to her,” he pointed out.

Illya just shrugged. “I told her you bedded women to keep up appearances, so we wouldn’t be discovered. She was very understanding. She knows what it’s like to be different, to be ostracized for being a social misfit.”

Napoleon frowned. “Is that what we are? Social misfits?”

“Only to bigots, Napoleon, but as homosexuality is still frowned on and until society changes its attitude, than we will have to remain discreet. Nora will keep our secret.” He kissed Napoleon’s mouth. “Now that we have one.”

Trust Illya to have thought this through so thoroughly. “Well, it sounds like you’ve covered all bases.”

“It’s what I do best,” Illya said without a trace of smugness. “Look at the problem, take it to pieces, analyze it, find a solution. That’s why I like working in the lab.”

Napoleon stood and pulled his lover up with him. “That’s the way I like to work, too. And my solution to our current situation?” Napoleon said, tracing a hand over the drying semen on his legs. “Shower, sleep, have more sex.” He stepped out of the pants hobbling his ankles, picked them up and draped them over his shoulder.

Illya smiled at the sight of Napoleon in his shirttails. “You didn’t mention food.”

Napoleon slipped his hand into Illya’s and pulled him into an embrace. “Trust me, you won’t feel like eating by the time we’re through.”

Napoleon had been right. Food had been the last thing on Illya’s mind that night, and in the morning, breakfast had been interrupted by a call from Mr. Waverly, sending Napoleon straight to the airport for a flight to Naples, while Illya was left to potter about Headquarters awaiting his return.

The following Monday, Illya rose from bed with a mixed sense of anticipation and dread. Napoleon was expected back from Naples today. Before Napoleon’s hasty departure, there had been no time to discuss the new development in their relationship. It was a big step, from friend to lover. Napoleon’s time in Naples, away from the distraction of his partner, would give him time to mull over what had happened a few nights ago. Would Napoleon still be interested in continuing? Would he want to start where they had left off? Or would he regard it as he did his other sexual encounters: a pleasant interlude and one he had no interest in pursuing further.

It was useless to worry about it. _What will be, will be_ , thought Illya. So for the entire morning, he engrossed himself in his lab work and tried to put his partner out of his mind.

 

Illya was pleased to see Nora when she turned up for work at her usual time. She took off her coat and hung it in its usual place as though it were a normal, working day. Business as usual.

He watched her discreetly as she settled into her white lab coat. “How are things?” Illya asked casually.

“Okay,” she confirmed with a gentle smile. “I’d just like things to go back to the way they were.” Illya knew she was referring to their working relationship.

He looked at her while her attention was on fastening her lab coat. Nora had kept her hair blonde but this morning it was styled differently, a little a softer, with more body and wave. Illya noticed she’d kept the contacts, too, and added a touch of color to her lips and cheeks. It greatly enhanced her appearance. There was an attractive young lady beneath that austere, prim exterior.

“You’ve changed your hairstyle,” Illya said, to fill in the silence.

Nora nodded. “I think I’ll keep this color, it sorta draws attention. Besides, they say blondes have more fun,” she added with a smile.

Illya shrugged, a look of doubt in his eyes. “I hadn’t really noticed.”

“Well, guess what? Some workmen whistled at me today. That never happened in my whole life before.” She ran her hands over her blond hair, a pleased expression on her face. “Oh, I have something for you,” she said as she leaned over and took a brown paper sack from her bag. “I baked last night. I made you something.”

Illya opened the bag and pulled out one of the small sponge cakes. “How nice. And so apt: Fairy cakes.”

“What? Fairy…?   Oh….” She blushed furiously. “I… I didn’t mean…”

Illya laughed. “I know you didn’t. Thank you, Nora. You’re a true friend,” Illya replied, brushing a kiss against her cheek.

With his usual flair for poor timing, Napoleon chose that moment to walk through the door. “What’s this? Should I be jealous?” he asked playfully as he crossed the room, his gaze passing over Nora to settle hungrily on his partner.

Nora blushed furiously. “Nooo,” she said with a smile. “Illya was just thanking me for the fair…. for the cakes I brought in. I made enough for you both. I hope you like them.”

“I’m sure they’ll be delicious,” Napoleon said, bringing his hand from behind his back and holding out a large bouquet of yellow roses.

“Are those for me?” Illya asked, fluttering his eyelashes puckishly.

“Certainly not. They’re for this delightful young lady. My way of apologizing.” He handed the flowers to Nora, who took them with a smile of delight.

“Oh, they’re beautiful, Napoleon, thank you. I’ll just put them in some water until I go home.”

The two agents watched her as she took them over to the sink at the far side of the room and started to fill a bucket with some water.

Napoleon turned his attention back to his partner. “Time to put your toys away, partner. Mr. Waverly wants us in his office. We’re going to be busy for the rest of the day.” Napoleon turned to Nora as she came back. “I’m sorry, Nora. Do you think you can manage by yourself?”

“Oh, sure.” She waved off his concerns. It wasn’t like Illya was around full-time. He spent less time in the lab than she did.

Illya slipped off his white coat, while he talked to Nora, leaving various instructions regarding his on-going experiments and tests. He turned and followed Napoleon out the door.   As they reached the end of the corridor, Illya turned left, while Napoleon turned right. Both agents paused after a few yards and retraced their steps till they were face-to-face.

“Mr. Waverly’s office is this way,” Illya informed his partner, pointing to the left.

“Ah, but the garage is this way,” Napoleon replied, gesturing back down the corridor.

“Garage?”

“Yes.”

“We are going somewhere?”

“Uh-huh.” Napoleon reached inside his pocket and withdrew his hand, tightly clenched around something. He glanced both ways down the corridor, making sure they were alone before he opened his hand. A handy-sized tube of lubricant sat in his palm.

Illya felt his pulse quicken. He cleared the tightness from his throat. “No Mr. Waverly?”

“No Mr. Waverly. Just you, me and Mr.Vaseline, here. Things are quiet for a change and I thought we could take the afternoon off. Carry on where we left off.”

Illya looked unsure. “Things may be quiet from your point of view, but I still have some experiments to run.”

Napoleon’s grin was more a leer. “So do I. Why do you think I have this in my pocket?”

Illya chuckled as he turned to walk down the corridor leading to the garage. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Napoleon replied promptly. “Your place is as temperate as Siberia. And you know what affect the cold can have on certain parts of your anatomy,” he asked, with a lascivious wiggle of his eyebrows.

Illya grinned. Napoleon always worried about his reputation as a lover. “Napoleon, if they dipped you in liquid nitrogen, you would still be able to achieve an erection that they could hang the American flag from. Regardless of this fact, I bow to your better judgment – this time. Your apartment it is. Besides, your refrigerator is better stocked than mine.”

Napoleon glanced at his partner as they walked and a shiver of anticipation ran down his spine. Sex for Napoleon was a pleasant past-time, a delightful diversion, and though he’d courted and bedded many, no one actually reached his soul like Illya did. It made Napoleon giddy with delight. He wondered if he would always feel this way or if time would tamper down his enthusiasm.

Well… there was only one way to find out.

**The End**


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